Of Innocence and Experience
by JennyLB
Summary: It appears as though Patrick Jane is finally broken.  During an encounter with Red John, Jane comes to grips with his own belief system and gains an understanding as to what he needs to do to be able to move forward in his life.
1. Chapter 1

**OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE  
><strong>

**Chapter One: _The Cruelest Month_**

Very much like any ordinary day in the CBI office, Grace Van Pelt, Wayne Rigsby, and Kimball Cho worked on paperwork and desktop computers. They weren't bored but weren't entirely excited either. Paperwork was a necessary ingredient of their job—one that they accepted. Teresa Lisbon, their unit leader, sat behind her desk in her glassed-in office completing the next layer of forms supervisors are tasked with. Few words had been spoken among them the entire day.

But their consultant, Patrick Jane, found this part of their work mind-numbing. So, during this time, Jane would sit on the sofa, sip green tea in a porcelain cup and saucer, and read great works of literature. His actions today were no different than any other. Today, he had chosen _Selected Poems_ of T.S. Eliot. At this present time, he had just completed _The Waste Land_.

Patrick Jane, the cultured and dignified man who never strayed from his three-piece suit attire (except for brief stints in jail), stood in stark contrast to Patrick the Wonder Boy who grew up in the crude existence of the mid-western circuit of the Carnie world. Patrick the Wonder Boy received no formal education. Being born into that world, Patrick was groomed by his father to be a flimflam, a charlatan, despite his father's realization that his son had been born with special gifts.

Patrick Jane had re-invented himself after his escape from that world. Initially, sipping tea with clients was his way of demonstrating to them his civility. He had little to prove to anyone anymore, but he had grown accustomed—and quite addicted—to his ritualistic drinking of tea.

The shrill of Lisbon's desk phone interrupted their concentration. They could hear her speaking but couldn't understand her words. A few minutes later, she emerged from her door and stated, "We caught one."

Those words, _we caught one_, made each of the agents guiltily excited. Adrenaline would quickly begin to fill each of them as they jumped up, ready to spring to action.

"Cho, you and Van Pelt take a separate vehicle," Lisbon ordered. She was self-assured and sharp. None of her underlings ever questioned her.

"Ah, _April is the cruelest month,_" Jane mocked them, throwing down his book and following them to the parking lot.

Lisbon and Rigsby got in the front seats of the van as Jane climbed into the back. After they all had belted up, she got moving. They needed to hurry to the scene before additional bystanders in the state park trampled over the evidence.

As they sped through the streets taking each turn at speeds not comfortable to Jane, he would clench his teeth, hold his stomach, and close his eyes. Even though he had grown up as a Carnie, he had never learned to like the rides that jerked and jolted people into thinking they were having a good time.

The sun was blaring into the backseat causing Jane's eyes to burn. He felt as though he were recovering from a roaring night of over-consumption of alcohol. He rarely drank alcohol because he wanted to retain control of his faculties at all times. He needed water to hydrate his parched mouth, and his head began throbbing at his temples.

"You okay, Jane?" Rigsby called behind his shoulder after he had heard a low moan coming from the back seat.

"Ugh, I think I'm getting car sick," Jane placidly answered.

He put his head down onto his lap, breathing through the symptoms he believed were car-sickness.

"Boss, something's wrong with Jane," Rigsby said, directing his voice to the driver's side of the van.

Lisbon adjusted the rear-view mirror to locate Jane within its field of vision. "Jane?"

He lifted up one of his arms to wave her off to indicate that he was fine and to keep going to the crime scene. "Just a little car…wait…please pull over!"

"What?" Lisbon asked, still straining to view Jane in the mirror. Within seconds she understood his request and jerked the van over to the side of the street.

Jane flew from the van and fell on all fours, vomiting right there on the public street where anyone could see. He could hear Lisbon mocking him from her van window, but he had no intention of retorting. After his stomach was empty, he felt better. Getting up by grabbing the van frame of the open door, Jane dusted off his knees, wiped his mouth, and got back into the back seat of the van. "Can you slow it down just a little for my sake," he wittingly requested of Lisbon.

She shook it off and got the van back onto the road. It was strange. But Jane was like that. He was a complete enigma.

The murder in the state park was a fairly standard case for them. They noticed, though, that Jane offered little in the way of his usual perceptive assistance.

Throughout the week, every question they asked him was answered with a semi-blank stare or a riddle wrapped around a string of sentences that made no sense to the rest of them.

At the end of that week, they had, after all, solved this one with very little helpful assistance from their consultant. They celebrated their singular success with pitchers of beer at the local pub.

Nine days later they were back in the office replaying the same scene of forms and desktop computers and Jane on the couch. He hadn't been right since that car-sickness incident. He was jumpy and pale and unkempt, obvious signs that he was not eating and sleeping. Lisbon feared it was Red John so she made it a point to lay eyes on him routinely to continue to monitor the situation. This wasn't his usual antics. Something just wasn't right, and she couldn't put her finger on what it could possibly be.

But they continued this way, and now it was a good two weeks since his unusual behavior had started—and Jane set the bar pretty high for that classification. The team watched as Jane continued to make his way several times a day to the men's room to vomit what they believed could only be his beloved hot tea. They had not witnessed him eat anything for the past two weeks.

"I can't take this anymore," Van Pelt announced to Cho and Rigsby. Cho stared at her while Rigsby answered back immediately.

"I know what you mean," Rigsby said.

"Go tell the Boss," Cho suggested.

"I will. Something's not right, and we can't keep pretending like it is," Van Pelt justified.

Jane was staying unusually longer in the bathroom. Van Pelt got up to go to Lisbon's office. She saw him appear from the men's room, and his appearance made her all the more motivated to prompt her supervisor into taking action.

She knocked on Lisbon's door with three confident taps. Lisbon looked up.

"Yes?" Lisbon asked.

"I'm worried about Jane. He isn't right. He's been sick, unsteady, and confused for the past two weeks, and it seems to be getting worse each day," Van Pelt stated, showing her personal concern for their quirky consultant whom they had come to love over the past four years of working together. It was more than just closing cases. They loved him like family, and now something was wrong and needed fixing.

"I know," Lisbon answered, "I'm worried, too." She had asked him on numerous occasions if he were okay. Each time he responded back with an affirmative, brushing her off as usual when it came to his health—both physical and mental. "He always tells me only what he wants me to know, which I might add, is not a lot. I know something's wrong, but I don't know exactly what to do."

Van Pelt began to answer but was interrupted by Lisbon's phone. They both slightly jumped by the shrill that tore through the intensity of their conversation, which obviously was ending prematurely so they could attend to the caller on the other end of Lisbon's desk phone.

"Got it," Lisbon spoke into the receiver. After she hung up, she looked at Van Pelt. "We will finish this conversation, okay? But for now, we caught another one."

Van Pelt knew what that meant. She went back to her colleagues and announced to them to get geared up.

Lisbon came into the room. "Van Pelt, you hold down the fort. Rigsby and Cho, you take a separate vehicle. Jane, you're with me."

Jane stood up unsteadily from the sofa. He placed his empty cup and saucer on the end of the table.

"Are you going to be able to do this?" Lisbon asked him.

"Oh, yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?" he answered.

"Come on, we can talk about it in the van," she said.

"Don't worry about me. I think it's just a touch of a stomach virus that simply refuses to be passed on to any of you," he directed to her backside as she hurriedly approached the doors to the parking lot. He followed behind her as quickly as possible.

The truth was, he felt absolutely terrible. He had never been this sick for this long. Whatever it was, he hadn't been able to eat or sleep in two weeks. Tea, which was the only thing he felt like putting into his stomach, was usually rejected by his stomach within an hour. He noticed how increasingly sensitive his eyes were becoming to light, and his left arm had developed a slight, but noticeable, tremor. Often the things within his line of sight were blurred, and everyone seemed to be speaking in slow motion. His mind was dulled. He couldn't think, couldn't concentrate, and couldn't keep the objects in his peripheral vision from jumping around.

They came upon the mansion that the yellow crime tape had clearly identified as the place where mayhem had happened. "What ya got for me?" Lisbon shouted out to Cho. Jane was still in the van. He appeared to his colleagues to not have even made one move to open the door handle. Inside the van, Jane was struggling with the handle to get his hands to pop open the door. The rest of the unit was almost through the front door of the well-groomed mansion belonging to the family connected to the upper echelon of their society.

"Ya coming?" Lisbon yelled back to Jane.

Jane didn't answer with words. He concentrated hard on the door handle. Once open, he walked to them as normally as possible. They entered the mansion and were greeted by local police who escorted them to the library in the back. Jane kept his hands by his side to try and balance himself as he walked.

The crime scene was disturbing. A mother in her mid-30's lay sprawled across the library floor. Her little girl lay perpendicular to the mother's body. They were both bloody from their necks down. There was too much blood at first glimpse to determine the exact causes of their deaths. Both lay angelically on the Persian rug spread across the dark walnut floors of their library. Their faces could have easily deluded the bystanders into thinking that mother and daughter were in a peaceful sleep. Their bodies, on the other hand, looked as though the killer left no part of their small frames unharmed.

"Oh," Jane said as he entered the room and saw them on the floor. "This is not good. Not good."

Lisbon wanted to flippantly answer back with a _No shit, Sherlock_ response, but she knew that right now wasn't the appropriate time. Jane was as pale as she had ever seen him, so she said nothing in reply.

Crime scene technicians went through the scene and evidence with the team while Jane stood motionless by the wall, unable to take his eyes off the mother and daughter lying serenely in the floor of the library filled with hundreds of old books.

"Charlotte?" Jane said. His voice interrupted the procedural conversation going on adjacent to him in the library.

"Charlotte, what are you doing here?" Jane said again. The tone of his voice revealed his unsteadiness.

Lisbon recognized that name. It was Jane's dead daughter's name. He rarely allowed her name to leave his lips. When needing to refer to her, Charlotte Anne Jane was always called _my daughter_ or _my child_. Lisbon recognized what was happening. After all, she was the daughter of a binge-drinking alcoholic father.

"Jane," she quickly spoke into his ear as she abruptly approached him.

"Yes?" he answered her.

"Is your daughter here?" she asked in hushed tones so the rest of the unit and miscellaneous officers on the scene wouldn't hear.

He looked at her and smiled, "Come on, Lisbon."

"Okay," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "Just checkin' on ya."

Jane continued to stand by the wall, trying to balance and brace himself at the same time. "Lisbon," he called out a few minutes later.

She glanced up at him to acknowledge that he was addressing her.

"You've got to take me out of here," Jane said loudly. Everyone in the room paused for several moments in awkward silence. They then recognized what they were doing and went back to work.

"Okay, come on," Lisbon answered. She needed no explanation from him at that moment. She knew this one was hitting too close to home for him. She feared that if they didn't leave now, he might just go over that precarious edge of his. She took him by the arm to guide him out of the library and home and then into the driveway and van. She opened and closed the door for him, a practice she rarely took with anyone. In her world, it was each one for himself. But at that moment, she sensed that Patrick Jane, her colleague and friend, needed more from her.

"I'm taking you home," she said once they were on the road.

"I just need sleep and food," he answered. "That's all it is. It's quite a simple explanation. I just need rest and nourishment."

"We'll get your car later, okay? I'm taking you home and making sure you lie down. And that's an order Patrick Jane," Lisbon feistily barked at him.

"Yes, ma'am," Jane playfully answered. He leaned against the door and stared at the van's dashboard.

They drove in silence to his home in Malibu. Lisbon didn't know where else to take him—wasn't sure which extended stay motel he was camping in this week. She began processing his actions in her mind over the past two weeks and couldn't shake the gnawing gut feeling that his recent actions might be connected to the fact that he had spent time in a mental hospital after his wife and daughter were murdered.

When they arrived at his home, she escorted him up the concrete steps leading to his front door. She reached into his pockets and retrieved his keys. She recognized which key belonged to the desolate Jane residence in Malibu where Angela and Charlotte Jane were massacred by Red John. They entered the empty home where only a pink tricycle with silvery streamers jutting from the handlebars remained. She took him by his arm and guided him up the steps to his bedroom where she knew only a twin-sized mattress and pillow lay on the floor. All else had been stripped from the home. She never asked him why he had done that but reasoned it was his way of punishing himself for their deaths.

She inhaled a large breath as she entered that room. Placing her hand on his back, Lisbon directed Jane towards the mattress.

"My head's just jumbled. I just need sleep and food," Jane repeated as he lay down on the mattress in his bedroom floor underneath the blood-drawn Red John smiley face. He closed his eyes, knowing that Lisbon would be staring at him.

"Is there anything I can do for you," Lisbon asked, bringing the warmth of her voice into the coldness of the room.

"I'm okay. You go on back to work and get the wicked bastard who did that," Jane answered, his voice a slurred string of words.

"Okay, Jane. Call me if you need me. Ya hear me?" Lisbon commanded.

"Yes, ma'am," Jane answered in a low, quiet voice.

Hours later in the silence of the night, Lisbon's cell phone rang. She recognized the number. It was Jane. He never would have called her in the middle of the night unless he really was in trouble.

"Jane, ya okay?" Lisbon sleepily asked into her cell phone.

"No. I need you, Lisbon. I need your help." He clicked off the call. That was all he said.

Lisbon jumped up and hurriedly dressed and got into her car, pushing the limits of the speed as she made her way to Jane's house.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE  
><strong>

**Chapter Two: _A Heap of Broken Images_**

Lisbon entered his bedroom where she had left him hours before. Jane didn't appear to have moved a muscle the entire time she was gone. Still clad in his tieless three-piece suit and brown dress shoes, Jane remained motionless as she came into the room. She wasn't sure if he hadn't heard her or was too sick to acknowledge her.

"Jane! Jane," Lisbon shouted as she knelt down by his side. She could tell that he was still breathing. Reaching forward to physically move his head toward her, Lisbon saw that classic Patrick Jane smile come to light on his face.

"Hi Lisbon," Jane casually said in a soft tone.

"I know you didn't call me out here in the middle of the night just to tell me hello," Lisbon snapped. Her façade showed what she hoped would be a cool and calm woman, but she knew that of all people, Jane had the uncanny ability to see through the surface and into her core being. She was concerned about him, and she hoped he wouldn't probe any deeper to see that.

"Lisbon, Angela and Charlotte are here. They are here. I know I'm not dreaming. You are you. Right?"

"Yes," Lisbon answered.

"I am not dreaming, and I am not crazy," Jane stated matter-of-factly. A moment later the tremor on his arm became visible to Lisbon. He had been able to hide it from her up until that point in time.

"Jane, what's going on here? I don't know what to do," Lisbon gently responded.

"You don't have to do anything. That's the beauty of it, Lisbon," Jane answered.

"Jane…." Lisbon said but was promptly cut off by him.

"Here they come. You can see for yourself. Okay, Lisbon?"

"Okay, Jane, why don't you sit up," she said as she physically moved him into a seated position, which just happened to be directly underneath the macabre symbol of Red John on the wall. Lisbon moved to be able to sit beside him on the mattress. She could see Jane's reaction to what must have been his visualization of his wife and daughter at the doorway of the room. The peaceful and grateful expression on his face at that moment was one she had never seen on his face the entire four years they had known one another.

"I don't want to die, Lisbon," Jane acknowledged.

Lisbon looked at the profile of his face as he continued to stare at the doorway.

"They are here. I know that, and yet I don't know that. I don't want to die, and yet I feel this urge to end it all. I'm so confused, Lisbon. I need your help. My mind won't clear up no matter what I do," Jane said.

"I understand," Lisbon reassured.

"Do you?" Jane eagerly asked.

"Well, yes," Lisbon answered, "You're confused, and we need to fix that. We can fix that, ya know?"

"No, I don't know. I can't remember what it felt like to have a clear mind, to be able to think straight…to be able to see straight…to trust what I am seeing."

Several soundless moments surrounded them.

Lisbon then saw Jane smile larger and make motions toward the door for someone to enter and come sit down with them. "They want to be here with us," Jane said.

"Jane, they are not here. Angela and Charlotte died by Red John's hands nine years ago. You were in the hospital to learn how to cope with their deaths…."

"No, not cope," Jane screamed. Lisbon hardly ever heard Jane's voice this loud.

"Okay, not cope, but regardless, you needed help, and I think you need help right now," Lisbon said, stroking his quavering arm to see if her touch would ease up the tremors.

"Lisbon, are they here right now? Do you see my wife and daughter, too?"

Lisbon dropped her eyes. "No, Jane, I don't. I think you need help."

Grabbing his face in his hands, Jane shouted, "Lisbon, I think I'm becoming unhinged!"

Lisbon had no idea how to respond to such a statement. If he had in actuality gone off the deep end, then he certainly would not be sane enough to comprehend that.

"We're going to get to the bottom of this, Jane," Lisbon reassured.

"I see them everywhere," Jane whispered.

"Okay, Jane," Lisbon said, "It's going to be okay." She stood up, took out her cell phone, and called 911.

"What are you doing?" Jane calmly whispered.

Lisbon didn't answer him. Her words were focused on the 911 operator to relay the information of what she needed to say to get an ambulance to Jane's house as quickly as possible.

"I trust you, Lisbon, but I don't understand what's happening," Jane spoke through his hands.

Lisbon ignored him until she was done with the 911 operator. "Okay," she finally said, "I think something has happened to you…I don't know what…but something. We must get to the bottom of this. Please trust me. I would never do anything…."

Jane cut her off, "I know, but they're so real. You're real, aren't you? How do I know if any of this is real?" Jane asked.

"I guess you don't," Lisbon answered, "You'll just have to trust me, okay?"

"I can't eat, can't sleep…can't even stop my damn arm from shaking. Why's it shaking, Lisbon," Jane asked.

"I don't know, Jane, but I promise you that we will get to the bottom of this," Lisbon said, running her hand up and down his arm.

20 minutes later the ambulance arrived, and Lisbon led them to Jane's bedroom where he was still sitting on the mattress in the floor. When Jane recognized what was happening, his facial expression turned to fright.

"I don't like hospitals, Lisbon. Why are you doing this to me?" Jane yelled.

Lisbon had no words to wrap around the thoughts in her head. She remained silent while they put him on the stretcher and fastened the leather restraints on his arms and legs. "Careful," Lisbon offered, "He's got a slight tremor in his left arm. Please take it easy."

Jane repeatedly asked, "Why are you doing this to me, Lisbon?" He would interject incoherent babble between that repeated question. Lisbon believed he was having intermittent conversations with the figments of his insanity. They slammed the ambulance doors, and Lisbon started her car to follow them to the hospital.

At the hospital, she approached the ambulance and waited as they lowered the stretcher where the tethered Patrick Jane lay babbling louder and with more agitation. As they wheeled him in, she walked behind the attendants. Once inside, Jane's voice was louder and more hostile. A nurse with beautiful silver hair and a gentle motherly touch approached Lisbon.

"I know you're worried about your friend. Your friend, right?" the mother nurse asked.

"Ugh, yes, yes, we're friends. We're good friends. There's something wrong with him, and I'm scared," Lisbon unloaded.

"Now, now, dear. He's in good hands. We'll take extra good care of him. Now I need you to wait right her," mother nurse instructed while pointing to the Visitor's Lounge. "And I'll come check on you as soon as we can settle him down and can get some answers."

Lisbon backed up to the first chair in the lounge without taking her eyes off the beautiful silver-haired nurse. Lisbon leaned the back of her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She just realized how tired she was. At some point in time later—Lisbon wasn't sure how long she had been out—the mother nurse awakened her.

"Is your name Teresa Lisbon?" the nurse asked.

"Yes, yes," Lisbon said, clearing the sleep from her throat.

"He's asking for you. We need to draw blood and are afraid to give him a sedative in case there are drugs in his system," mother nurse said as she ushered Lisbon to the room where Jane was being kept.

"What time is it?" she asked the nurse.

"It's almost dawn. Why?" the nurse asked.

"He's still in his clothes? Have you even done anything yet?" Lisbon snapped.

Showing Lisbon the irritated expression on his face, the doctor answered, "Ma'am, we're doing our very best. He's so agitated that we're afraid to remove the restraints."

"Sorry," Lisbon answered.

"We understand, dear," mother nurse interjected, patting Lisbon on the back.

"Do you think you can talk to him to see if that might calm him down long enough for us to get a blood sample? Our hands are pretty limited until we can run some tests to see what's going on in there," the doctor instructed Lisbon.

Lisbon approached the bed. Jane's wrists were raw and a deep red where he had been fighting against the leather straps.

"Lisbon, tell them. Tell them! I'm not crazy. I don't like doctors and hospitals. I'm not crazy. You're you, right?"

"Jane, I really need you to relax. Can ya do that for me? Can ya, Jane?" Lisbon asked calmly as she grasped his shoulder above his collar bone.

Several moments later, by the touch of her hand and the sound of her voice, Jane released his tension on the leather straps and folded down into the bed. He continued looking at Lisbon. His face relayed to her the fear that he was feeling. The doctor approached from the opposite side with a large syringe.

"Let me tell him before you do anything. No surprises," Lisbon glared at the doctor. He held up his hands to indicate to her that he was retrieving back.

"Jane, they need to get some of your blood."

"My blood! Why do they need my blood?" Jane frantically asked.

Lisbon made eye contact with the doctor and stated, "So they can check to see what's going on with you. I need you to relax," she peacefully spoke, locking eyes with him once again. She had seen him do this trick hundreds of times with suspects and victims. She didn't know if it would work, but she thought she'd try.

"Shhh, just relax. Feel all the anger and fright leave your body. Picture yourself in the sun. You are on the beach. Try and relax. You're okay. I'm here with you. I'm real, and I'm here with you," Lisbon quietly said as she kept the pressure on his shoulder.

Within five minutes, Jane's eyes dropped.

"Can you still hear me?" Lisbon asked, using the same calm tone of voice.

"Yes," Jane barely whispered, his eyes still closed.

"There's going to be a small sting on your right arm. It won't last very long. Just relax and try not to move," Lisbon instructed. She thought to herself how proud Jane would have been of her. That thought made her want to cry.

In several minutes, Jane was in a deep sleep-for the first time in two weeks. The rattle of his breath concerned Lisbon. "Why is he breathing that way?" she asked the mother nurse.

"He has a multitude of symptoms. It's too early to say what's going on right now. When he first came in here, his blood pressure was unusually low, his eyes were dilated, he was agitated, and he seemed very confused. It appears that he's experiencing hallucinations."

Lisbon felt the lump form in her throat.

"I really can't say…" the doctor began but was hastily cut off by Lisbon.

"Can't or won't? Doctor, I am an agent with the CBI. This is my consultant, Patrick Jane. He was perfectly normal two weeks ago…well, normal for him. But my point is this: something has happened to him. If you know or suspect something, I want to know now," Lisbon yelled.

"Well, it's either a mental breakdown or drugs," the doctor bluntly asserted. "He has a history of mental illness, so the odds are…"

"Okay, then," Lisbon interrupted. She knew Jane didn't use drugs and had no social life. He spent practically all of his time at the CBI office or with one of them. A drugging—whether intentional or not—would be extremely challenging. That's when it hit her. He had finally broken; the doctor might be right. She might not ever again see her Patrick Jane. Being strapped down to a bed in a mental institution might just be his fate. She stared down at his sleeping form and knew she couldn't hold back her emotions much longer.

The doctor and mother nurse continue standing beside her. The nurse reached out to take Lisbon in her arms, but Lisbon ducked back. "I gotta go. I need to be at work soon. Please call me as soon as you know something definitive," Lisbon instructed. At that, she abruptly turned and retreated to her car in the parking lot, heading to the CBI office. She allowed tears to escape her eyes in the privacy of her vehicle as she continued to remind herself that she had done the right thing getting Jane to the hospital. She had done the right thing. She had done the right thing.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

****OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE**  
><strong>

**Chapter Three: _Fear in a Handful of Dust_ **

Jane roused to the feeling of warm dampness on his face. He could hear a woman's soft singing as what felt like a wash cloth moved back and forth across his face and neck. "_In thy sleep little sorrows sit and weep_," the voice sang quietly.

Jane knew he needed to open his eyes but was struggling against the heaviness of his lids.

As his eye lids quivered, mother nurse recognized his struggle. She responded to his actions by delicately stroking his forehead with the tips of her fingers. "_Sweet babe, in thy face, soft desires I can trace. Secret joys and secret smiles_," she continued to melodiously sing.

Jane was finally able to open his eyes to see who was bathing and singing to him. He didn't recognize this older, silver haired woman wearing nursing scrubs. As she bent forward to bathe him, her hair framed her round cherubic face. Her touch felt like what he had always imagined a mother's touch would be like. He lay vulnerable before her in the hospital bed, still restrained by leather straps on his hands and feet.

Mother nurse smiled maternally down at him. Jane began pushing against the restraints. Something about her didn't feel right. "Shhh, Mr. Jane. You are going to be just fine," she lovingly reassured, stressing each word as it left her mouth.

"Where am I?" Jane murmured.

Mother nurse responded by continuing her little dirge, "_When thy little heart doth wake, then the dreadful night shall break." _She squeezed excess water out of the wash cloth and wiped it across his neck, pulling the hospital gown away from his shoulders.

He recognized the words she was singing. Anxiety took over his body as he tensed against her gentleness.

"Shhh…shhh…shhh, Mr. Jane. It will all be okay," she reassured.

"I may be crazy, but I know what you're doing," Jane said through gritted teeth.

"_When thy little heart doth wake, then the dreadful night shall break,_" mother nurse repeated as she straightened his gown and brought the blanket up to his chest.

"You think I don't understand what's happening," Jane yelled. "I know what you're doing!"

Mother nurse lay the palm of her warm, moist hand on the side of his face and smiled tenderly down at him. "Shhh, Mr. Jane. Now don't get yourself worked up. It's all going to be just fine. This is your fate," she said.

Jane tried pulling away from her as much as the straps would allow.

"_Thy maker lay and wept for me. Wept for me for thee for all. Thou his image ever see. Heavenly face that smiles on thee__," _she spoke aloud, kissing him on his forehead and turning to exit the room.

Jane recognized that when she shifted from Blake's innocence to experience, her song became her spoken word. In the fogginess of his mind, he couldn't grasp what that meant.

"I know where those poems come from," Jane yelled to the door as it slowed to a close. He thought to himself that he must be going crazy. His mind was still so grey. He couldn't determine whether she was real or if he had imagined the whole scenario. But the antiseptic smell of the soap lingered in the air and on his skin.

He had lied. He really didn't understand what was happening and who this woman was.

The moment the door completely closed behind her, Jane relaxed his body and exhaled. Calming his heavy breathing, Jane lay back and shut his eyes once again. He knew she was gone but couldn't get the thought out of his head that he wasn't alone. He could feel someone's presence in the room. The air felt heavy and suffocating.

"Is someone here?" Jane asked.

The sounds outside his door reminded him that he was in a hospital. Occasional voices reverberated across the intercom system.

"Please, is someone here? I can feel your presence," Jane called out once again. He shifted his body as much as the strap would give so he could get more of the room within his frame of reference.

"Angela. Charlotte. Is that you? I know someone's in here," Jane pleaded.

Jane lay still and breathless in his bed. Time slowed.

"Hello, son," a man's voice came from behind him. Jane didn't remember falling asleep. He couldn't tell what was real. His breathing became labored. He was prey caught in a trap.

"Red John," Jane said.

"Hello," Red John answered, not leaving his position behind Jane, out of his eye sight.

Jane's mind was racing. He couldn't grasp whether or not this was real.

"It's time, son," Red John said.

"Time for what?" Jane asked.

"For you to admit it," Red John answered.

Jane started scanning the thoughts that were in his mind. He couldn't make sense of many of them. He knew he had done a lot of bad things in his life, but he couldn't grasp what Red John was referring to.

"You killed them," Red John declared after several moments of dead silence.

Jane's eyes widened as tears formed in their corners. His heart raced. His stomach clenched.

The pictures in his mind began swiftly panning forward as if his life were a DVD stuck in fast-forward mode. His mind slowed to the events nine years ago. He remembered some of the drive home, the note on the door…the blood. He remembered screaming while holding the bloody bodies of his once beautiful wife and daughter. He remembered not being able to smell anything but blood. He remembered not being able to feel his legs any longer. He remembered the red turning to black.

"No," Jane answered, "It was you."

"Oh, you sick man. It was you. You knew what you needed to do," Red John said.

"No," Jane repeated.

"Come with me in your mind," Red John instructed.

Jane tightly closed his eyes, trying to block out what was happening.

"That fateful morning, you knew what you needed to do…for me...for us. And when you arrived home that evening, you viewed your own handiwork," Red John stated.

Jane lay motionless- in complete disbelief.

"You say there is no God because you know that I am your god, your master. They were your lambs—your sacrifice to me, your god. Don't you understand, Mr. Jane?" Red John asked.

Jane was trying to take himself to a different place. He tried to remember the taste of his favorite green tea, the smell of the CBI office, the pitch of Lisbon's voice when she was annoyed with him.

"Mr. Jane, your slaughtered little lambs were all a part of the master plan. Don't you see? You needed my divine favor. It was I who made thee in my image. And now it is time to fulfill your destiny," Red John whispered loudly.

"No," Jane yelled.

"You, like me, are a tiger. Beauty and horror coexists in us both," Red John said.

Jane continued to sift through the images in his mind of that night. The blood. The black.

Red John continued, "You, like me, understand that there is no God. You know what Blake asks, don't you?"

"Yes," Jane answered.

"Say it," Red John shouted.

"What kind of God can—and does—create both the lamb and the tiger," Jane replied.

"Bravo," Red John said, as he clapped his hands together several times.

Jane jumped at the first two whacks of Red John's hands.

"So, it is time for you to unburden yourself. You shall feel your rebirth," Red John imposed.

He couldn't determine what was real and what was misfiring in his brain. He shivered. "Oh God, please help me," Jane prayed aloud, turning his head and looking up at the ceiling.

Red John sternly stated, "There is no God up there. I am here. I have come for you."

"God, please," Jane begged.

Red John sneered.

Jane stated aloud, "There is a God, and it's not you, you miserable piece of shit!"

"And yet you know that if there were some magical supreme being in the sky, he never would have killed them and saved you. What kind of God does that? Seems wrong, don't you agree?" Red John tormented.

"Yes," Jane whispered, "It does seem wrong."

Red John's mouth turned upwards slightly as he spoke, "No supreme being would create the beautiful, innocent lamb and then turn around into the darkness and craft the tiger. We are tigers, you know."

"I know," Jane answered.

The room was engulfed in stillness.

"No," Jane interrupted, "God help me, please."

Red John wanted to move forward to darken the shadow he was casting on Jane's face but held back.

In one moment of perfect clarity, Jane announced, "God's creation is complex. His power is infinite. His divine will is unfathomable. I cannot deny your evil and its presence in this world. While I would like to understand, I know I can't. A human's simplistic explanation cannot endure the coexistence of good and evil."

Red John stood quietly against the wall. Moments later he stated, "I believe I have overestimated you, my son. You're not ready to apprentice. I've got more work to do. No worries. It is fun. You are a worthy protege, and I am a patient man," Red John stated as he came from the wall behind Jane and scurried through the door.

Jane followed Red John with his eyes to drink in every possible detail imaginable. He willed his eyes to remain focused on the figure until it was completely out of his sight.

Jane felt Red John's impact. He had denounced his faith nine years ago. But now in the drowning shadows of pure evil, he had no other choice but to reach out and beg God to save him. Only God was powerful enough to save him at that moment. The irony, Jane thought, was that it took evil in the form of Red John to help him realize that he would never understand why God had to take his beautiful family from him to help him to become a better man.

He then realized that his focus now needed to be about finding peace within himself. He needed peace to move forward in his life.

Relaxing his muscles and giving in to the tension on the leather straps binding him, Jane closed his eyes and saw images in his mind of his wife and daughter. They were innocent and beautiful. He saw them together playing Bach on the piano, swinging on the porch swing, dancing in their foyer. His eyes filled with tears as he saw his wife begging him to get out of the business. He had promised he would but didn't. He wept when he saw their beautiful sleeping faces and brutalized bodies at the hands of Red John. Then he whispered aloud to the ceiling, "_These fragments I have shored against my ruins_. _Shall I at least set my lands in order_."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

******OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE****  
><strong>

**Chapter Four: _You Who Turn the Wheel_**

The next day was darkened by overcast clouds and torrential rain. Thunder and lightning blasted through their concentration as Van Pelt, Cho, and Rigsby sat at their desks working on the Thomas case—the mother and daughter strategically placed in a cross position in the library of their home.

Lisbon shuffled papers and fretfully moved about her office. By evening, Cho hurriedly barged through Lisbon's office door. He only did that when there was something she needed to know immediately. During these times, he didn't have patience for formalities.

"The Thomas case," Cho announced to his boss.

"Yeah?" Lisbon asked.

"It's a Red John Copy Cat," Cho answered.

"How ya figure that?" Lisbon responded nervously.

"Just got a report from the coroner that said hundreds of Red John Smiley Faces were carved into each of their bodies from their necks down. They were re-dressed and died by bleeding out," Cho stated with no emotion.

"Shit," Lisbon said.

"Boss, is there something we don't know?" Cho asked. "Is this a Copy Cat?" Cho paused then continued, "Is Red John still alive and stepping up his MO?"

Lisbon stared up at him.

"Boss, we need to know. We deserve to know," Cho stated before giving his boss any time to answer.

They had worked together for many years. He was right. After everything they had been through together, they did deserve to know.

Cho went in for the kill shot, "Not knowing puts us all in danger."

"Cho, you're right," Lisbon said, looking down at her cell phone that began vibrating on her desk. "I haven't said anything so you could have plausible deniability."

"Screw plausible deniability," Cho answered.

"I really need to get this," Lisbon said, looking at caller ID and seeing that it was the hospital where Jane was being kept.

"Okay," Cho answered, "But have you thought that if this is Red John, then it's probably connected to Jane's craziness?"

Lisbon's obvious lack of connection of the two was apparent on her face.

She looked away and answered her phone.

Cho could hear that whoever was on the phone was causing his boss a great deal of distress.

On the other end of the phone was Jane's doctor who called to inform Lisbon about what he had discovered so far. "Your Mr. Jane has an extremely high dose of Amitriptyline in his system."

"Oh," answered Lisbon. She didn't know what that drug was used for. "I don't understand."

"It's a powerful antidepressant used to treat moderate to severe depression. Has Mr. Jane been prescribed Amitriptyline by a medical professional?"

Lisbon didn't know.

"Common side effects include drowsiness, dry mouth, blurred vision, increased heart rate, nausea, vomiting, disorientation and confusion, insomnia, tremors, and increased sensitivity to light," the doctor's voice spoke through her cell phone. Lisbon noted in her mind that he sounded as though he were reading the list off of a Warning Check Sheet mandatorily put together by drug companies.

She recognized many of the symptoms in Jane.

"It's serious stuff, Ms. Lisbon," the doctor continued. "There are possible serious side effects, too, which are hallucinations, psychosis, and thoughts of suicide."

Lisbon remembered the conversation she had had with Jane where he told her he wanted to live but had the urge to end it all.

"We need to determine whether or not it was intentional," the doctor informed Lisbon.

"What?" she asked, partially in shock.

"We need to know whether or not Mr. Jane intended to overdose on this drug, or was it an accident? We'll know more when the other lab work comes back. It will be a more extensive report. Since we aren't sure for now, I am forced to call the Department of Social Services and report the overdose," the doctor continued. She hated him at that very moment. He sounded like a smug bastard, but her rational mind told her that he was just following the rules of his profession.

"I'll be right over," she answered and slammed closed her cell phone.

Cho took that as his queue to go back to his desk and work the case.

As she momentarily sat there, Lisbon reasoned that she knew Patrick Jane fairly well. He would never do anything like that on purpose. That was when the magnitude of the situation hit her: someone had been drugging Jane. The culprit had to have spiked his tea at the CBI office. But worse, she now believed Cho was right. The Thomas case and Jane's drugging had to have been connected. He was drugging Jane and murdered the mother and daughter to push Jane over the edge...to get Jane where he could lay hands on him. And she delivered Patrick Jane to that monster tied neatly in leather.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, Red John had been among them.

She jumped up and ran to the kitchen and feverishly tore through the cabinets looking for the tea. There was no sign of Jane's addiction in the cabinet any longer...not one single tea bag! The cups, saucers, and pitchers had also been stripped from the cabinet. Lisbon's heart felt as though it had exploded. How dare that bastard desecrate the sanctity of their office!

"Oh my God," she yelled, running past the stunned members of her unit and into her car. She sped to the hospital.

Once she had arrived at the hospital, she ran at full speed to Jane's room. Bursting through the door, she saw him startle to the crashing sound of her entrance.

She ran to his side and began fidgeting with the leather straps holding him down. Jane looked at her and smiled.

"Hello, Lisbon," he calmly stated.

"I'm getting you out of here, so I need you to cooperate," she said.

"No arguments from me," Jane answered.

The mother nurse came in and began trying to move Lisbon away from her patient.

"I will pull my gun if I have to," Lisbon warned, "So remove those straps now."

"You can't do that," mother nurse argued.

"The hell I can't," Lisbon shot back.

"You go girl," Jane chuckled.

"I'm taking full custody of my partner, Mr. Patrick Jane. You have no authority to stop me," Lisbon shouted. She wasn't sure who was more senior on the hierarchy in regards to being able to take authority of Jane. But she had witnessed Jane's confident lies and deceptions for so long that she realized that the trick of it was just in the tone of the voice. If you speak with authority, then you are the authority.

"But he's suffering from withdrawal. It's not safe for him or you," mother nurse argued, her last-ditch effort. Mother nurse comprehended her fate if Red John's protégé was allowed to walk out of that room, out of direct access.

"I will keep him safe," Lisbon answered.

"There's no way any of you are capable of doing that," mother nurse rebutted.

It was an ominous statement, so Lisbon drew her gun on mother nurse. "Remove them now," she screamed through her clenched jaw, pointing to the brown, leather straps trapping Jane for his predator.

Mother nurse removed the straps and abruptly left the room. Lisbon had no idea where mother nurse was heading, so she knew every moment counted.

"Come, on. Let's get you up and out of here," she said, looking down at Jane, now in a seated position on the bed.

He rose unsteadily from the bed, and Lisbon helped him dress. His eyes stared at her with an expression that showed how grateful he was to her at that moment.

"We'll just have to get you through the detox period," she said, reassuring herself more than her drowsy, disoriented friend.

They darted down the hallway and could hear mother nurse sing, "_Then the dreadful night shall break" _as she threw back her head and swallowed a handful of pills.

As they walked as quickly as possible towards the hospital's rear exit, she repeated, more for herself than to Jane, "We just have to wait for this drug to clear out of your body."

Jane chuckled again, "But Lisbon, it's not my body but my brain." He turned his head to face her, smiling that classic Patrick John smile.

Lisbon smiled back, seeing hope that her Patrick Jane would return soon. She placed her arm around his shoulder and guided him out of the hospital and into her car. She drove quickly out of the hospital loading deck where she had parked.

"Lisbon," Jane interrupted the silence a few moments into their journey.

"Huh?" she responded, snapping back to the reality of the consequences of her actions: her friend was going to go through withdrawals, and he wasn't safe anywhere.

"Thank you for saving me," he said, staring blankly ahead, not moving his head or eyes.

Lisbon placed her hand on his arm and moved it up and down in a comforting pattern. His arm continued to tremor slightly. "You're welcome," she answered, glancing at the still form propped against the window of her SUV.

"We're going to fix this, Jane," Lisbon said, glancing around at him.

He didn't respond.

"Did ya hear me?" Lisbon persisted.

"Going to fix this," he parroted.

"Okay then," Lisbon said, consciously tightening her grip on Jane's tremoring arm to reassure him of her presence at that very moment in time.

"_What the thunder said_," Jane whispered.

Lisbon thought he was talking about the storm they were barreling through. Jane knew she didn't understand at that moment but would, in time, get it.

The coolness of the right side of his head from the window juxtaposed the heat blaring from the vents hitting him directly in the face. At that moment, the cold and the heat were in perfect balance.

"_Shantih_," Jane whispered, this time more to himself than to Lisbon.

"I don't understand," Lisbon responded, "I don't know what you mean."

"_The Waste Land_," Jane answered.

"Jane," Lisbon said in her usual Jane-exasperated tone.

"The Fisher King. You know? He's fishing on the banks," Jane replied.

Lisbon blew out a short, frustrated breath.

"Peace," Jane inhaled deeply, keeping his eyes closed, not moving one bit, "peace that surpasses all understanding."

Lisbon still didn't understand what he was trying to communicate to her. But she decided that it was best for now to let it drop. A few moments later, she heard his awkward breathing and realized he had drifted to sleep. That was best.

She didn't know what she was going to do beyond that moment in time, so she just kept driving toward her apartment. She would have to figure that out later. Joseph Arthur interrupted her thoughts singing "In the Sun" on the radio. She had always loved that song. It made her recollect being able to calm down Jane in the hospital the day prior. That made her smile.

At first she mindlessly sang along, "_I picture you in the sun wondering what went wrong. And falling down on your knees asking for sympathy."_

She jumped slightly at the vision she had of Patrick Jane opening his bedroom door to go to his brutalized wife and daughter. She visualized the complete horror on his face. Glancing over at him, she saw images of him—of them— throughout the past four years as they worked together to interview thugs, to piece together elements of a case, to share ice cream, to be the only one the other completely trusted.

Arthur continued, "_And being caught in between all you wish for and all you've seen. And trying to find anything you feel that you can believe in_."

"Oh my God, Jane," she whispered as she caressed the white gold cross around her neck.

"_May God's love be with you. Always,_" Arthur continued to sing from her dashboard.

Looking from the windshield— where her SUV's wiper blades methodically criss-crossed to clear the way— to and the sleeping form sitting beside her, Lisbon cleared her throat and continued to sing, "_Cause when you showed me myself, you know, I became someone else." _

Jane stirred slightly.

Lisbon continued to sing, "_A nightmare comes. You can't keep awake."_

Jane drowsily awoke and turned to look at his beautiful partner singing along with the radio, gallantly driving her car to safety with him sitting beside her._ "May God's love be with you_. _Always_."

"_Cause if I find my own way, how much will I find," _she sang.

He loved her intensely at that moment.

"_I find you," _Lisbon continued, erratically following along the song_._

"_If there is anyone in the sun, will you help me to understand?" _Her words became surreal to Jane, and he struggled to understand whether this moment in time was only in his mind.

"_Maybe you're not even sure what's it's for any more than me." _Lisbon strained against the naked reality of how intentional that moment felt as she continued to sing and drive down the wet, dark streets lighted by lamps along the way.

Jane closed his eyes again, allowing his head to drop to the left toward Lisbon.

"_May God's love be with you. Always," _Joseph Arthur sang._  
><em>

"_If I find my own way, how much will I find?" _

_"I find you,"_ Lisbon sang, looking at Jane and smiling.

At that moment, she began to understand what he had been trying to tell her._  
><em>

The end.


End file.
